


Sun Filled Words

by Poetiicdissonance



Category: The Catcher in the Rye - J. D. Salinger
Genre: Baseball, Gen, Poetry, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetiicdissonance/pseuds/Poetiicdissonance
Summary: In the summer, surrounded by the cheers of friends and teammates, Allie writes in his green pen on his baseball glove.
Kudos: 1





	Sun Filled Words

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So I had to write this for a school assignment, but I figured I might as well post it here. I don’t remember what the parameters were— I think we had to write something from a different perspective— but I ended up with this just kind of quiet, pre-canon headcanon-y thing. I hope you enjoy!

The sun beat down on the hard packed ground, the light breeze doing barely more than shifting the leaves in the trees. Allie raised one gloved hand to shield his eyes, squinting slightly at the batter and the metal bat reflecting the sun, making it a beacon. The weather was edging on too warm, but it wasn’t quite hot enough for him to want to stay inside. The season change had come quickly this year; Spring flowers had come and taken root on the edges of the field, the blues and pinks and yellows dotting the otherwise green expanse.

Scattered along the outfield were other players, waiting with baited breath for the pitcher to throw. It would be any second now. The seconds ticked by, and then the pitcher moved forward and threw the ball, everything bursting into a flurry of motion. The ball was flying to the far side of the field, away from him, and Allie could see his friend running to catch up with it before it hit the ground. The ball was moving fast, and so was Simon, but, he though, he wouldn’t be able to catch it in time. With that thought, the ball hit the ground bouncing once, twice, before Simon grabbed it and threw it to second base, scant seconds before the batter slid onto it.

He cheered with the rest of his team, as the two sides swapped places. Giddy with the excitement of the game, he pulled a familiar green pen from his pocket, uncapping it as he pulled off his glove, flipping it to reveal the smooth leather on the back of it. He hummed for a minute of consideration, the pen tapping a few times on the glove. It had become a tradition that at every game he would try to write a poem on the glove. In a few places the ink was fading, the leather worn from the repetition of catching the ball.

The first one he had written had been the product of creative boredom. A haiku, because they had just learned about them in school, written on a whim on one of the fingers. He traced the writing with the back of the pen, lightly running over the text; _‘Sun drenched Earth of green / flowers sprouting in the field / natures endless sea’._ He had been proud of it, and the next poem had come, and a third, until it had become a habit.

He sat the pen down on the glove’s back, pausing to consider what he wanted to write. Nature had become a thread in the poems, a worn path of symbolism. Humming gently to himself, he started to write, the pen gliding along the smooth leather. ‘my paths are covered by light / and it hides my steps of night’. He paused, considering the next rhyme. _‘As I wander through the wood / I never stop to wonder if I should / because adventure's why I live / and it holds all that I can give’._ Finishing the poem, Allie smiled, the three couplets scrawled across the back of the glove, the green standing out enough that it was legible.

Shifting his attention to the game, Allie sat the glove on the ground beside his foot. Simon was batting, and the ball went flying. Walking towards the abandoned base, he picked up the bat, settling into position. From home base, he saw the pitcher, Joshua, throwing the ball, and then he swung the bat.


End file.
